Sunday, March 4, 2007

My Sunday Morning

I'd only slept a few hours Friturday, so it wasn't hard getting to sleep early Satunday night. Popped awake at 3 a.m. though, and brooded for a few hours. Set out about 10 a.m., down the long freeway to the sea. Got lost. How is that possible? I was so careful to write the directions down. I looked it up on the world wide web for mercy's sake. But the addresses were going in the wrong direction, so I turned around, and went in the wrong direction too. It seems that cities restart their block-numbering from zero. Who knew? Just another public information service that you'll find only here at the fabulous Forgotten Prophets Website and Travel Guide ("Meeting all your bigoted, philosophical and interurban needs since the-last-two-weeks-of 2005!")

But it only took me 15 minutes to notice and correct the confusion in someone's mind, and I was hardly late at all, by my reckoning.

Well, it was much bigger than what I'm used to. And there actually were a couple of fellas that I know. I don't like them, mind you. I won't roll with them. But at least I knew them. And amazingly, I was hardly stiff or sore at all. In fact I wasn't stiff or sore at all. I must be getting younger.

I know, you're panting and gasping with poorly-contained excitement. How did I do? Well, I only rolled with three people. A seven year old girl, a paraplegic, and yo mama. Zing! No, I kid. Really, I'm just kidding. It was yo grandmama. Zing!

The first fella was tough. Just strong. Shawn. Sean? I won on points, as I reckon it. Passed his guard a couple times. Got side-control a couple times. Took his back twice, maybe a sweep. But I was not in control. Tough. And I gassed out. Maybe 10 minutes. Very disappointing. And he could just as easily have gotten me. Lesson? Well, there are several. Don't roll with guys who are 20 years younger than me? No, that's not the lesson. Don't roll with guys who are 30 pounds heavier than me? No, that's not it. (But notice how I've made excuses without seeming to? Oh, I'm a sly one.) The lesson is, get stronger, and faster, and be more flexible and have more endurance. But that's obvious. Be more aggressive. But that's obvious too. Take more chances. Obvious. Don't rely so much on strength. Learn a few more finishing techniques from the back. Don't just give up good positions. Ob ob obvious.

The second fella was older -- not my age, but older. Some gray. Patrick. We just went at it slow. A sweep, a mount, the back, a choke and done. But not exactly, cuz he got my arm from the back and put up a very solid threat. Was I careless? Unmindful, rather -- I forgot something that I know. Lesson? One mistake can make you lose. Obvious.

The third guy was a young strong phenomenally fit MMA fighter. Jesse. He'll be fighting professionally at the Forum on the 17th. Ten-year wrestler. Striker. But only doing BJJ since October. No gi. So I swept him a couple of times, and he escaped a couple of times. He had the most ferocious bridge I have ever seen or heard about. There's explosive, and then there's explosive. He'd been rolling a lot, so he must have been tired.

The most important thing is that I won, twice on points and once on submission. That's all I care about. That's the lesson. Obvious.

I kid. If there was a lesson, it's that new things aren't really bad. Stress isn't really bad. But don't lessons have to be new? Don't you have to learn something, from a lesson? I really did know all that already. Is there anything I don't know? I guess there is no lesson. Just reinforcement. Excellence takes time, and we have to be patient with ourselves. Our expectations should be reasonable. We're allowed to fail, and sometimes even success is a disappointment.

Yes, I am disappointed. What did I expect? Nothing unreasonable, to be sure. I was disappointed that I just gassed out. I was disappointed that I was careless -- forget that "unmindful" crap. Most, I'm disappointed that I didn't go up to more fellas and ask to roll. Why did I drive 70 miles round trip, if not to roll? Did I go to be shy? Did I go to just do the same thing I always do? But I faked it pretty well. We can call that practice. It's a technique. I just need to practice it more. Hi, I'm Jack. You still playing? Then let's git it on! Oh, I mean that in a totally heterosexual way. Did I make you uncomfortable? Dude, I'm like totally into those chicks, with their hot, um, bosoms. Just like you, right?

I should do this every week. I really need to roll with that Shaeawn. But I don't want to drive.

Then I left and went to the Y and ran, and maintained my one-armed chinup. And I did some deep squats. Not heavy partials. Deep, with only 100 pounds. My reasoning is that it'll be good for my old cracking knees. My reasoning is that it will help with shoots and takedowns. As a runner I didn't need to be strong down so low. But this isn't running.

And there was a woman at the Y who had a six year old boy who just took the money out of her purse and played with it, and she laughed and talked and had no problem with that. Then he was having his picture taken for the i.d. and she didn't like his smile and manually adjusted his face trying to change his expression while she never ever stopped talking and complaining and scolding and complaining and nagging. And remembering my office as prophet, I parted the obdurate veils of time and looked ten years into the future, and what I saw would have broken my heart, were it not broken already. And I was right at the counter for some reason -- maybe I was chatting up the hot chick there, hoping later to have sexual intercourse with her. Maybe I was pleading and begging to be allowed in even though I stopped paying for membership last summer, and am notorious for stealing towels and peeing down the stairwells and in the drinking fountains. Maybe I was wearing my cloak of invisibility, looking for injustices to right. In any event I was there, and I spoke directly to the boy, instead of to the yammering woman, and I told him he had a very handsome smile. And I said his photo was a good one -- he looked serious and strong. And I wanted to give him a big hug, but that wouldn't have been appropriate. And I wanted to instruct this incompetent mother in what is important, like taking money out of a purse, and what is not important, like the type of smile her poor little son has for a photo. But that would have been inappropriate.

Then I came home. I don't actually know what I've been doing for the past four hours. But these sorts of details bore me. And I only talk about fascinating things, here at the fabulous Forgotten Prophets Website and Obsessive Attention to the Minutiae of My Unhealthy Self-Involvement.


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